A Man and a Woman
by Mucada
Summary: For one lean moment we pretended to be in love..." Tonks wonders what her and Remus' relationship means. Bittersweet and slightly different than your typical Remus and Tonks lovin' story.


Title: A Man and a Woman  
Author: Mucada  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: If they were mine, this is what the Harry Potter series would look like: sheer Remus/Tonks lovin'.  
**A/N:** This contradicts the popular belief that Remus and Tonks are a match made in heaven. They are my OTP, but I think of their relationship as bittersweet. I love them to death because of that. And, writing's more fun that way. This might not be the most popular take on RL/NT, but I enjoyed writing it and am very satisfied.  
Summary: "For one lean moment we pretended to be in love." This is completely PWP. Tonks wonders what her and Remus' relationship really is.

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_"For love and faith and sex and fear  
And all the things that keep us here  
In the mysterious distance  
Between a man and a woman"  
_-U2

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On a warm day near Easter, he left the school and came to my flat in London. Winter was over officially and spring was just up the road. The earth was in the process of thawing its cold body in the sun, and I had left work that day early, with the anticipation of finding him in my living room. We planned the meeting, realizing what our vastly different lives have come to. My mind sat in idleness, waiting for his arrival: the weeks that went by were only filled with stress and discomfort. I sat up at night, working on Ministry files that arose post-war. So much legal work needed to be done to clean up and flush the government of corruption.

I found him sitting on my sofa when I entered my flat. I grew accustomed to finding him in my home when I walked in, and I wasn't startled. Years had passed, like leaves in the wind that sometimes got caught on things before they blew far into the sky. I changed my face enough times to distinguish any signs of premature aging. He, on the other hand, did not have that magical luxury, and as he sat on my couch reading a magazine he wore reading glasses. My attraction for him only increased. He was a man that aged gracefully, unafraid of what the world saw him as. His face only collected a few lines, around his eyes and forehead, and his hair had grown almost completely grey. I found him astounding looking, the picture of the worldly and intellectual professor that had had his share of secret adventures. His female students must find him enchanting. I smiled at the thought of teenagers talking about him, like my friends and I did during school.

I asked him what he was reading, and his looking up briefly, green eyes on my own. Today they were brown, and tomorrow they would be sapphire. Apart from mentally picking out my clothing during the long hours of work, I chose what my appearance would be the following day. He told me about the articles they had in the magazine about some of the professors at the new school he was teaching. I sat down next to him, and the image of his charming smile was in the article: "Dunbar Academy Starts First Term: Liberal Headmaster Jacob Sparsdale hires an eclectic faculty of renowned scholars, and raises the standards of magical learning." He had joined the experiment of Europe's newest wizardry school, after leaving Hogwarts six years ago. At the end of the war, finding a job became easier. I began to read the paragraph under his picture out loud: "Professor R. J. Lupin, the most popular candidate for the Defence Against the Dark Arts department, joins this all-star faculty as one of the most famous faces in today's wizarding society. His wisdom surpasses many in the field, and he is one of the most respected in the academic society. A two-time war veteran, Lupin appears anything put a grizzly and battered war hero. _Witch Weekly_ named him as one of England's most eligible bachelors, even though his aloof manner keeps him well out of the spotlight. There is much excitement about his involvement of this educational advancement."

I couldn't help but laugh at his face, which was twisted in exaggerated disgust. If only the media knew of our relationship: a former werewolf and member of the Order of the Phoenix who was currently sleeping with the Metamorphagus aurora half his age. _Witch Weekly_ would have an absolute field day over it. I told him this, and he only smiled at me. His face wasn't young anymore, and only his eyes lit up, as crow's feet appeared on his face. I lightly touched every line on his face as I kissed him. It wasn't as if his age marked the decline in his life as the years went by. It reminded me of the distance that separated us: he was wary of life, each line on his face symbolizing a time when the world cast him aside. He experienced more than I would ever see. He lost more to this war and the past war, and grasped a better understanding of life than I did. And I was acutely aware of this, which distanced us even more.

Never had he said that we weren't right. Our relationship was for sex, even though we no longer blindly crave it for release. Granted that is still there, but not as desperate. And that is what tells me we are still living for just the contact of our bored and distressed minds.

I grasped his shoulder as I stood up, telling him to wait as I changed out of my Ministry robes. As the years passed, I decided to no longer distinguish us from the crowd by wearing flamboyant attire, yet I kept the individuality of my style. As he waited in my living room, I got down to business at my closet door, knowing exactly what to wear: my favourite pair of jeans, a blue shirt and suede sandals. I was anxious for spring, and couldn't resist.

When I returned he was standing up with his hands in his pockets and his head tilted slightly. I am reminded once more about the passion that once held than giddy anticipation of seeing him at a distance in the crowded sitting room of an Order meeting. He stands almost softly, like a silhouette, like he's almost unsure of his presence. Not in a shy way, but with the intent of thinking no one will approach him. His life changed drastically after the cure for lycanthropy, before a broken and feared man, and then a professor finally getting his dues. It shocked him as much as it shocked me. I find the patterns of our lives so hard to grasp, and I wonder what he makes of all this.

As we exited my building, we are distanced lovers, and only that. Could it be that our mysterious dissimilarities keep us from talking? We were never friends before lovers, only members of the Order, working together as comrades against evil. I know very little about him, only things I heard from Sirius before he died. We both never reached out to learn each other. We never take stabs at long conversations, or talk of all the things that make us who we are. We are so distant; we stay together for passion only. This should bother me but it doesn't, because I am attracted to him. I fear some of this might evaporate if I took it all seriously.

That is what comes with the age difference, I told myself, completely ignoring the fact that we have so little in common. Are we so little of people?

I blindly searched for his hand, and weave my fingers through his as we walked. He said he wants to take the Underground to the park, but I told him it's too nice to not walk outside. He complied, and smiled. I am suddenly shocked he doesn't argue, but I leave it at that because… Well, I don't know, I think to myself.

Kensington is a twenty minute walk from my street, and we took the stroll at leisure, talking about the buildings we pass and the shops along Sloane Street. I didn't have any muggle money on me, but he bought a coffee for me in the nearest café, and I promised to pay him back even though he won't accept it. The streets are busy even though it's Sunday. When we reach Hyde Park we crossed in a mad dash, and laughed about it afterwards because we both are silently aware that it wasn't nearly as dangerous as anything we've previously encountered in the last few years.

We entered the park under the beautiful archway, still hand in hand. The sun shown brightly and we walked for a while in the blissful park, in silence with the noise of a busy city around us. We sat on the grass amongst young and old lovers, feeling caught in-between. For one lean moment we pretended to be in love. And he kissed me with strange vigor, like it was newly found passion all over again. Not only are we caught amongst the contrasting world around us, we are caught in the middle of our own confusion. Pretending for the sheer sake of holding on to former parts of our lives, we forgot ourselves to each other.

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Thank you for reading, and please feel free to review because I greatly appreaciate constructive criticism. What writer doesn't? ;)


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